


You’ve been fighting the memory all on your own

by Elisexyz



Series: Someone to stay [2]
Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Season/Series 02
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-21
Updated: 2018-04-21
Packaged: 2019-04-25 22:42:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,758
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14388627
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elisexyz/pseuds/Elisexyz
Summary: Skye sitting beside her is no guarantee that everything is fine.Jemma wishes she could just ask for Grant, but she knows that the request would be met with more than a bit of scepticism – or at least, she’s somewhat sure: it’s hard to keep all the stories straight in her head sometimes, especially right after a rude awakening, and ultimately this reality feels just as real as the others.





	You’ve been fighting the memory all on your own

**Author's Note:**

> For the Tumblr prompt: ["Just say the word and I will walk away. No questions asked." + Biospecialist](http://heytheredeann.tumblr.com/post/173165629479/for-the-prompt-just-say-the-word-and-i-will-walk).

She wakes from a dream of fire and the world crushing on her head to Skye’s concerned face. Her hands are holding Jemma in place, delicate but strong, and her lips are moving but it takes a few extra seconds for her brain to piece together what she’s saying.

“Jemma? Hey, are you alright?”

She slowly nods, taking a sharp breath and looking around to find her room. There’s less familiarity to it than she would have liked, but she can see that it’s hers because of the books lined up on the shelves, and the clothes hanging by the chair, clothes that are unmistakeably _hers_.

“It was just a bad dream,” she assures, her smile coming strained as her eyes turn back to Skye’s face. “I’m sorry I woke you up.”

“No need to apologize,” Skye smiles, but it looks odd because the concern is not gone from her face yet. “You need anything?”

“No,” she answers, quickly. It’s a lie. “No, I’m alright.”

“I’ll stay for a while,” Skye volunteers, and Jemma has to stop herself from answering too harshly, because _that_ — that is the last thing she needs right now.

“If you don’t mind, I’d rather be alone,” she says, an apologetic smile on her face. It quivers a bit as Skye’s face falls and a rush of guilt twists Jemma’s stomach, but she really _can’t_ have her here.

It’s nothing against her, she quite appreciates everybody’s concern, really, but having Skye – or Fitz, for that matter – hold her and assure that everything is fine and that she’s out now does very little to ease her anxiety. Through the whole thing, she can only think of Grant, wondering where he is and praying that he’s not being taken away.

Most of the time, it was just the two of them and a bunch of fleeting strangers, acquaintances that Jemma trained herself to forget as soon as possible. Other times, more rarely, Skye and Fitz and their team where there too. But they were just like all the others: temporary, extras in somebody else’s story.

Skye sitting beside her is no guarantee that everything is fine.

Jemma wishes she could just ask for Grant, but she knows that the request would be met with more than a bit of scepticism – or at least, she’s somewhat sure: it’s hard to keep all the stories straight in her head sometimes, especially right after a rude awakening, and ultimately this reality feels just as real as the others.

“Are you sure?” Skye checks, still sitting on her bed.

Jemma nods, with another smile. “I’m sure.” Skye still doesn’t leave. “I promise I’ll call if I need anything,” she adds then, and Skye finally nods and stands up. Jemma barely hears her wishing her goodnight, busy as she is trying to calm down and not work herself up in an attempt to keep everything straight in her head, trying to convince herself that this is _different_ , because it’s a stable reality, it won’t disappear under her feet as soon as she gets lured into a false sense of security.

She grips her arms, taking a deep breath and reminding herself that she saw Grant merely hours ago and he was going to bed: even if this _was_ a reality among many others – and it’s not, they say it’s _not_ – there’s little that can happen to him while sleeping in a secure secret base full of SHIELD agents. So she’s fine for now. They are fine.

Then in the morning she can see him and get further confirmation.

She eyes the clock: it’s almost four in the morning. Grant wakes every day at half past five to start his workout when the gym is empty. She just has to wait for an hour and a half, she doesn’t even need to go back to sleep. He’ll be a bit mad, because he always is when she doesn’t take care of herself, but that’s okay. Him worrying is reassuring and real in a way that Skye and Fitz, for all she loves them, can’t be right now.

There’s a knock on the door, that Skye left open, and Jemma’s breath catches in her throat when she sees Grant standing right outside of her room, looking— alive and well. Unsurprisingly, because they are safe in the base. And they say this is the real world, there is no sword hanging over his head.

“I heard you screaming before,” he explains. He looks calm, but Jemma knows his concerned tone when she hears it. “I just wanted to see if you were okay.”

“It was just a bad dream,” she says, and her smile doesn’t feel all that forced now that breathing comes a bit more easily. “Did I wake you?”

“I don’t mind,” he shrugs. He’s hesitating on the door, looking uncertain of what he’s supposed to do. Jemma would only want to find the words to ask him to stay, but she knows she shouldn’t: he has been very nice and accommodating, dealing with her following him around without as much as a protest, but she knows that it must be uncomfortable for him. They weren’t this close, before, and he’s been so kind anyway. She can’t ask any more of him.

“Can I do something?” he asks, taking a small step in her direction and staring at her with openly concerned eyes. “Jemma?” he prompts, when she stays silent. He has started calling her by her first name almost immediately when he noticed that she tends to automatically go for ‘Grant’. It doesn’t help her in trying to build a distance for his sake, but it does make her feel more at home.

“Could you stay a little?” she asks, quickly, silently scolding herself for her weakness. “I know it’s the middle of the night and— and I really don’t want you to feel any obligation, truly, I just—”

“Jemma,” he interrupts, gently. It sounds beautifully affectionate.

She knows he doesn’t remember all the time they shared, he never does, but somehow every time it feels like a part of him _knows_ — like in a sense they are picking up where they left off, even if some details get lost.

“It’s okay,” he assures, smiling slightly her way before turning to close the door. “May I?” he asks, pointing at her bed as he stands a few feet away from it.

Jemma is sitting, still tangled in her covers, and she doesn’t have to think before nodding and lifting the sheets up to invite him in. She’s suddenly reminded that it’s not like _that_ , not here, when he hesitates to get in.

“Oh, you— you don’t have to,” she says, biting her lip and feeling her cheeks burning up in embarrassment. “I just thought it’d be more— comfortable— you really don’t have to, it’s already kind enough of you to stay.”

He doesn’t say another word as he slides into the covers, settling beside her and fitting there as if he hadn’t done anything else in his life. He’s not quite touching her, but he’s close and as she lays down as well she can feel the heat of his body right there, within reach, a reminder that everything is good.

“Just say the word and I will walk away, okay?” he says, gently. Which is a bit ridiculous, because he’s the one who’s being morally obligated to do this. “No questions asked.”

“Thank you,” she answers, and she hopes that he understands that she’s not referring to his offer to walk away. She reaches for the lamp and turns off the light, taking advantage of the dark to shift so that she’s lying on her side, facing Grant without having to remind herself that she shouldn’t be using him like this.

She hears him move, and a moment later his fingers are gently playing with her hair.

It reminds her of another night, when they were hitting a two-months mark and she couldn’t help wondering how long it would be until everything slipped away from her again. She asked him if he ever thought about dying, and the randomness of the question actually made him laugh a bit, because he was blissfully unaware of the hell she was – is? No, _was_ , it’s over – stuck in. She asked if he ever thought about how he wanted to go, pushed by morbid curiosity, half-heartedly wondering if perhaps the only thing that she could give him was _that_ , the kind of death that he preferred.

He fell silent just long enough for her to understand that he was considering it, then he said that he always thought that dying to save the person he loved was a pretty good way to go, probably the best.

At least he got that, a couple of times.

She never asked again, and she wonders if this Grant, the one in front of her, would give her that same answer. Probably not. And she doesn’t think he’d voice anyway.

But he is lying in her bed at four in the morning, trying to get her to relax, offering support in spite of the narrowed looks he gets whenever she stands a little too close to him.

“You are a good man, you know?”

The silence that follows is unsurprising, and his hand stops moving for a moment. Jemma just waits: it’s not the first time that he has needed a minute to process such a statement.

“That’s a bit of a stretch, don’t you think?” he finally laughs it off, going back to playing with her hair. “Cuddling a beautiful woman is no hardship.”

“I know you,” she simply states, and it pains her a little that he can’t understand how well. “You are not even the _worst_ Grant I met,” she snorts, thinking back to a version of him that sold people and their still very much attached organs on the black market. She was engaged to him. “Yet in all of you there’s something good. And you are actually _pursuing_ it, so…” She trails off, shifting an inch closer.

He’s perfectly still, if it weren’t for his fingers still moving and the clear sound of his breath she’d think that he had disappeared – or died in his sleep; that happened too, once; it’s not the worst way to go.

“Thank you,” he finally says, with that slight inflection in his voice that means that there’s nothing but honesty behind his words. It makes her lips twist into a smile and her heart ache with nostalgia.


End file.
